Amen’s underpants cannot be panties
nor chrysanthemums flame-trees
armies streaming. Don’t start
with pity, don’t
waiting for a taxi at noon
everyone’s patience red
vigilance selling
milk fruit petrol
valor and squalor
nakedness between
fights you breathed by
The flame she said is quite beautiful. Moves
like breathing. Between me and everyone else
soft tongueless severance from the casual
guttering
at the bus stop my whore-calves glow like salt
they signify wishing, the burning one
who can do nothing, every ruler
Red skirt and dust
and chickenwhite wait—
You blow on my face
go back to reading Theories of the Future
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